


Consequences of Falling

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21998203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: In a world where everyone is born with a Gift, Jack can see through people’s eyes for an hour if they touch and Eric...he gets visions of Jack dying. They start unclear and develop over time, and they should stop after Eric saves Jack. They don’t. After Eric saves Jack’s life several more times, Jack confronts Eric about why he’s always in the right place at the right time. After revealing his Gift to Jack, the two team up to help decipher Eric’s dreams. Though they start as acquaintances, they quickly become close friends. Feelings get deeper, but with Eric’s continuing visions of Jack, can there ever be a good time for those feelings to be confessed?
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 37
Kudos: 177
Collections: OMGCP AU Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to;  
> \- My two incredible artists, [M/happyzimm](https://happyzimm.tumblr.com/) and [Katelyn/peaches--n--queen](https://peaches--n--queen.tumblr.com/)  
> \- My two awesome beta readers, [Silvia/notenoughgatorade](https://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/) and [marc0bot/b1ttle](https://b1ttle.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [The mods](https://omgcpaubang.tumblr.com/info) for creating and hosting this event

_ A Little While Ago _

Eric is asleep by the time Jack pulls up outside his house. Jack turns off the engine and sits and stares at him. Eric’s head is turned toward Jack, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling as he breathes. Jack sometimes looks at Eric and feels a pang in his chest that he gets to know someone who is so beautiful inside and out. It happens again now.

He reaches out a hand and brushes his fingers over Eric’s wrist.

His Gift kicks in, but instead of the blackness he should see—the back of Eric’s eyelids—he sees something else entirely.

Jack sucks in a breath. Against all rational reasoning and past experience, Jack sees the layer of fog blanketing the scene and knows from Eric’s explanations that he’s seeing one of Eric’s premonitions.

Jack closes his eyes and tunes in on the dream, helpless against what he’s seeing.

He recognises the music room in his apartment. He and Eric are sitting together on the pull-out lounge and Jack’s teaching Eric something on the guitar. With his Gift, the dream has no sound, but he overlays the image with his own memories of Eric’s laughter.

Jack watches for a few minutes, seeing himself move Eric’s fingers into position on the guitar strings, wishing he could hear whatever song he’s singing. There’s nothing overtly romantic about it, but Jack knows himself, and sharing music like this with Eric would be that for him.

The fog starts rising up over the scene and Jack pulls himself out. His hand has wrapped itself around Eric’s while he was in the dream. He pulls it back to his own side of the car as Eric clears his throat and shuffles in his seat, waking slowly.

“Nice dream?” Jack can’t help but ask.

Eric looks over to Jack. “Yeah.” 

“A dream or a  _ dream _ ?”

“Um, I don’t know.” Eric drops his gaze to his lap. “It felt strange.”

“Have you heard anything new from your parents?” Jack asks while Eric stifles a yawn in the crook of his arm.

“About what the mutation might be?” Jack nods. Eric exhales and shakes his head. “No. Nothing. I’ve been calling every other day to run through theories with them. They've even brought my Moo-maw in now."

"I’m sorry."

Eric rubs his hands over his face. "It's fine, Jack. I don't mind. You're a pretty great guy to have to spend time with."

It's the lateness and the quiet of the night that has Jack asking with seriousness, "Have to?"

Eric turns to Jack. Jack expects a joking reply, but the vulnerability behind the question must show to Eric somehow. He reaches across the console to wrap his fingers around Jack's arm.

"It may have been that way at the start," Eric says, eyes wide and boring into Jack's, "but that changed very quickly."

Jack jerks a nod as a wave of relief rushes through him.

Eric smiles and leans across the console to hug Jack. He’s tuned his Gift out by now, so all Jack sees is the bright of Eric’s hair as he leans into the hug.

Eric pulls his key ring from his bag. A key to Jack's apartment shines among the set, still appearing new though it’s been used several times already.

Watching Eric let himself into his house, pausing to wave cheerily at Jack from the stoop, Jack realises something odd about the dream, something that Eric must have already noticed that made him reluctant to class it as a dream. 

There was no death. 

Something deflates inside Jack as he realises it must not have been a premonition. Jack would love to know the scene he saw is in his future, but even with his feelings being as strong as they are, he can’t put that on Eric on top of everything else.

_ Present Day _

"Butter?" Jack calls from the kitchen.

"Of course," Eric yells back from the floor of Jack's living room. 

Eric looks over his sketch and swears, flipping the page over to start again. Take three.

"Still going?" Jack drops the popcorn bowl by Eric's sketchpad on the coffee table. 

"I keep putting the window—what I think is a window, anyway—in the wrong place," Eric grouses.

Eric grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it into his mouth. "Thanks," he tells Jack with his mouth full.

"Don't mention it."

Eric fills in another few lines of a shadow that could be a couch or a bed or a very large beanbag. He's only had two dreams so far. There isn't much clarity yet. Plus, there’s been something off about his last few dreams. Something in the way the shapes form out of the fog. It’s different than normal, like instead of the fog dissipating to  _ reveal  _ the scene, it’s shaping itself  _ into  _ the scene.

While Eric draws, Jack takes his guitar off its hanger on the wall and settles onto the couch behind Eric, tuning the instrument.

Eric grabs another handful of popcorn and thinks very hard before drawing the possibly-a-window on the page. Satisfied it's finally in the right place—it would be easier if he had a photographic memory to go along with his Gift—he rewards himself with more popcorn and a break from sketching.

He grabs the bowl and pivots on the cushion he’s been sitting on. He holds out the bowl to Jack, who pauses his tuning to take one single popcorn kernel and bothers to chew it before swallowing. Eric raises an eyebrow.

"I had three helpings of your dinner," Jack defends his popcorn consumption.

Eric grins. "Yeah, you did. Even though the last time you did that you made me swear not to let it happen again."

“Why are you bringing that up? Makes you look bad that you didn’t remember to tell me not to grab that third plate.” Jack takes two kernels this time but still chews them. 

“To show the power of my cooking,” Eric replies, overcome with a familiar rush of fondness toward Jack.

Eric watches Jack’s long fingers on the guitar strings, biting down on his lip to quell the urge to open his mouth and say any of the thoughts crammed in that box in his head, the one labelled ‘do not open’.

He pulls himself out of the thought with a shake of his head. “Besides, I did tell you not to go for thirds tonight,” he reminds Jack, “or have you conveniently blocked that memory?”

Jack narrows his eyes at Eric. Eric grins and eats more popcorn, wishing—again—that their situation was less complicated and he didn’t have to keep shoving his feelings into that box in his mind.

_ Just After the Middle _

"Thanks for meeting up so quickly," Eric says as Jack settles on the seat opposite him at the restaurant table. "I just got the sense this thing was going to happen soon, so I thought it best to jump on it."

"All good," Jack reassures, sensing the frenetic worry in Eric. He’s a nervous tapper. "It's school holidays so I'm surprisingly free and bored."

"So to get it out the way," Eric asks after they've ordered, "do you know this place? Have plans to come here in the near future so I can make sure I'm here too?"

"Actually, I come here every month with some of the other staff for a dinner thing. The next one is Friday week."

"Okay. I'll invite myself along then, if that's alright?"

"No problem," Jack agrees easily. He's thought about inviting Eric along to something soon anyway so he can meet Jack’s friends. "I think you'll get on well with everyone, actually. Most of them know about you already "

"You been talkin' about me?" Eric affects an exaggerated Southern drawl and leans across the table, fluttering his lashes. It affects Jack's ability to breathe for a second.

"A little bit."  _ A lot.  _ But Jack thinks it's best to keep that undisclosed for now.

Eric stops the eyelash fluttering and settles back in his seat. "All good. You know I've been talking to Justin about our situation too."

The food arrives which gives Jack a good excuse not to address the surprising stab of jealousy in his gut, even with his knowledge that Justin and Eric are just friends.

"So. Kind of related to talking about you." Eric reaches across the table with his fork and helps himself, unasked, to a bite of Jack's quiche. "I have been doing some  _ thinking _ about you."

Jack's heart tries to soar out of his body. He smiles. "I swear every other conversation we have starts with 'I've been thinking about you'." 

"You're on my mind!" Eric defends, swallowing his bite of stolen quiche. "I think about you a lot!"

Jack tries not to feel too pleased by it. He's been experiencing a similar thing, though probably not the way Eric means. The dreams he has about the two of them must be miles away from the ones Eric has. 

"I mean-" Eric clears his throat. "Wow, this is turning into a terrible segue." Eric puts his fork down and crosses his arms on the table. "I want to talk about your Gift." 

"Go ahead."

Eric looks to Jack's hands. "You don't like wearing the gloves all the time, do you." He doesn't say it like a question.

Jack stretches his fingers out, feeling the leather pull against them. "Not really. But it helps minimise accidental skin contact with strangers."

Eric nods. "But the thing is, we're not strangers anymore. We're…"

"Friends?" Jack offers.

"Yeah." Eric smiles. "I think so. I didn't want to assume. But good to hear we're on the same page."

The same page is an approximation. Jack knows his own feelings are probably a few pages ahead of where Eric’s are. In an ideal world, 'friend' would not be the word he’d choose to define their relationship. He'd want to prefix it with something else.

"What about my gloves?" Jack prompts.

"I don't know if this is overstepping, or actually going to make things better for you in any way, but I was thinking since we're  _ friends _ ," Eric smiles at Jack again and Jack's fingers tingle pleasantly, “and I trust you.”

Eric holds his hands out across the table toward Jack. Jack is confused until Eric points to Jack's hands. Jack lifts one up and Eric reaches for his glove.

Jack's breath catches. He didn't think his hands were connected to his ears, but there's a roaring in them as Eric pulls the first glove off. 

Jack switches hands and Eric takes his time easing the second glove off, careful not to touch Jack's skin. Jack's nerves prick below his skin. Time feels a little slow as he watches Eric's capable fingers fold his gloves together on the table by his elbow.

Eric hovers his hands over Jack's bare palms and waits until Jack nods at him before he drops his hands into Jack's.

The warmth hits Jack first, and he registers how smooth Eric's skin is against his own guitar-calloused fingers. Then there's a disconcerting few seconds of seeing his own face overlaying Eric's. It's insight he didn't want, but perhaps needed, about how obvious his feelings show on his face.

Jack swallows, needing to break through the crest of feeling rolling up his spine.

"Are your hands always this warm?" Jack asks, pleased his voice comes out steady, tuning the vision out like an old TV so he's just seeing from his own eyes.

"Yes. It's havoc for my pie dough."

Jack drops his gaze to their hands. "You're going to have to explain that to me later." 

Jack runs his fingers along the veins in Eric’s hands and wrists before Eric shivers and pulls them away.

"Ticklish," he explains.

Jack grins. "Noted."

Eric narrows his eyes. "I don't like that look on your face."

Jack hopes it’s not the love he saw reflected there earlier. He can't push that on Eric when he's already weighed down by being Jack’s Guardian Angel.

"I have only honourable intentions with this new information," Jack mock-pledges, a hand over his heart.

Eric sighs. "Tickling aside, I do trust you. You don't have to wear the gloves, or long sleeves, or scarves around me if you don't want."

Jack would thank him but his throat is a little busy preparing to cry. The reaction surprises him. He didn’t realise it had been bothering him so much not to be able to touch Eric properly if he wanted to.

Jack lays his hands palm-up on the table and Eric puts his own back into them. Jack acknowledges it's not quite a traditional contact between friends, especially across the table of a restaurant, but a little bit of the unconventional is par for the course with him and Eric.

Jack is embracing the extended moment of contact when Eric's expression suddenly flips from what Jack was optimistically reading as fondness. He sits straight up in his chair, eyes alert. Jack's about to ask what's going on when Eric pushes up from his chair, grabs the front of Jack's shirt, and pulls him roughly across the table toward him.

There's a crazy half-second where Jack thinks he's about to receive the most abrupt kiss of his life—their faces are so close, he can see the flecks of lighter brown in Eric's eyes—when the shocked yell of a server from behind him breaks the fantasy.

There’s a moment of absolute silence. Jack has the fleeting thought to use his Gift to see what’s happened behind him, but he can’t break Eric’s trust like that.

Eric's eyes are wide on his. "You're fine. You're safe," Eric tells him in a whisper. "You're good. It's good. Okay. All good."

One of Eric's hands finds its way to Jack's cheek. It's a lot of skin contact so soon after Eric's concession to Jack's Gift. Jack doesn't think that's why the touch feels electric as Eric’s fingers dance down his neck to rest over his pulse point.

_ Present Day _

"Oh, hey." Eric pivots on the cushion again and taps Jack on the thigh.

Jack takes an earbud out and looks to Eric.

"Do I know that song?" Eric asks.

There is some crossover in their musical tastes, but it's very minimal.

"Yeah. It's on your work playlist," Jack tells Eric.

"Play some more. I want to guess," Eric requests, tapping Jack’s thigh again, feeling the hard muscles beneath his fingers.

"Okay,” Jack agrees easily. “But I'm still transcribing it."

Jack adjusts the guitar on his lap and starts a chord progression that's not enough for Eric to identify. Then he repeats it and adds bits and pieces of melody on top.

"Is that—Are you playing Lizzo?" Eric asks incredulously.

Jack grins. "Yeah. It's good you can tell. I don't think I've got the riff quite right yet. Should it be more like-" Jack plays it again. "Or is it this." He plays another line.

"First one," Eric tells him.

Jack nods and leans over his guitar to type something on his laptop. Eric can see he's got his music writing program open. He waits until Jack's finished, then asks, "So what's this for?"

"I'm trying to arrange something for the big band. They keep hinting they want to do more modern stuff."

“Wow. I’m impressed. Modern for you usually means stuff from the 90s,” Eric lands his tease with a poke to Jack’s leg.

Jack shoves Eric with a socked foot, mindful not to disturb the popcorn bowl.

“How’s the sketch going,” Jack asks. “Ready to show me yet?”

Eric finishes a handful of popcorn then swaps the bowl for his drawing pad and sits on the other end of the couch from Jack. Jack shuts his laptop and moves it onto the coffee table, leaving the cushion between them free.

"Okay. So." Eric has the sketchpad turned toward him still. "I've only had two dreams now, so this is very vague.”

Jack nods. "I know the process."

"Just making sure. Here." Eric flips the drawing pad around so Jack can see it.

Jack squints and leans in. “Can I?” He reaches a hand out.

Eric passes the pad over. Hands free, he reaches for the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and brings it to his lap. He almost chokes on his mouthful and tries valiantly to hide it from Jack, but even though Jack’s attention is on the sketchpad when it happens, Eric is unsuccessful.

Jack picks the guitar off his lap when Eric’s choking progresses to coughing and disappears into the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water.

Eric’s face is hot from both choking and embarrassment. For all that he’s close to Jack and comfortable in his presence, there are some things you don’t want the person you're in love with to see.

Eric clears his throat and takes a sip of the water. "Thanks," Eric says after his airway feels clear again.

"Maybe you should start using my technique instead of mocking me every time," Jack suggest loftily, moving the bowl away from Eric.

Eric picks one solitary piece of popcorn from the bowl in Jack’s hands and places it delicately in his mouth. Then he pretends to choke on it.

Jack laughs. He pushes the popcorn out of reach of Eric and picks up the drawing pad again, moving onto the middle couch cushion next to Eric.

"I don't think I know this place," Jack tells him. "Sorry."

Eric frowns.

"Hey, it's only two dreams in. We'll get it," Jack reassures him.

"I know. There’s just…" Eric tries to put the feeling into words. "There's something different about this one." 

Not quite a success with the word choice.

"Different how?" Jack prompts, moving the pad onto the table by the popcorn.

Eric looks at it again, wishing he knew. "No idea. We're sailing further and further into uncharted territory here."

"Good thing I'm a fabulous sailor then."

Eric huffs and rolls his eyes, knowing full well that Jack has never sailed a day in his life.

Jack lifts his arm and Eric shuffles over to lean into him and rest his head on his shoulders. Jack smells like his usual soap and a little buttery from the popcorn he made. Eric lifts his hand to the side of Jack's neck, fingers landing on the pulse point below his ear.

"The last premonition... I only had five dreams before it happened," Eric finally whispers his fear to Jack.

Jack squeezes him tighter against his side.

_ The Middle of Things _

Jack pays more attention to the process of cleaning up than he usually does, which, as the neatest of his friends, really reveals to him his feelings toward having Eric at his place.

Eric rings the bell twenty minutes later than they'd originally planned but ten minutes earlier than his text said he’d be.

Jack finds himself pausing by the front door to catch a breath, unsure of what impulse has driven him to do that and many of the things he's done this morning, like finally venturing into the homewares store down the street to buy a coat rack for his entryway.

Jack opens the door and Eric is standing with a Tupperware container in his hands and a big smile on his face.

Jack feels himself smiling to match.

"Hi, Jack," Eric greets.

"Hi, Eric. Come in."

Jack steps aside and Eric brushes past him.

"Did you get a haircut?" Jack asks, shutting the door behind him and taking the container from Eric so he can divest himself of his coat and hang it on Jack’s brand new rack.

"Yeah." Eric brushes his fingers through the shaved hair at the back of his head. "It was getting a little long at the back."

"It looks good," Jack tells him honestly.

"Thanks." Eric takes the container back from him. "Took longer than I thought it was going to though. It's why I'm late. Hope I didn't get in the way of any other plans?"

Jack shakes his head. "I don't have anything else today."

"Well, I don't need to be here long anyway. This is just to get a visual of your place, then I'll get out of your hair."

"Sure. Okay." Jack swallows down the sudden disappointment. He knows they’re more acquaintances than anything, but Eric isn’t someone he wants to have a business-only relationship with. He ticks far too many of Jack’s boxes for that.

Jack takes Eric to the kitchen first so he can put his container of food down.

"You didn't have to bake," he tells Eric.

"Yes I did. You'll learn that about me."

Jack hopes he will get the chance to learn about Eric, and that Eric isn’t just saying that out of politeness. Even though they're connected in a strangely deep way, they don't really  _ know  _ each other. Jack wants to know Eric.

Eric has made a batch of choc-chip oatmeal cookies. The smell when he takes the lid off the container is amazing. They take one each on the tour. Jack's place is small; there's one central hallway with a bathroom at the end, the kitchen and spare-room-cum-music-room are on the right-hand side, and the living room and his bedroom are on the left. He doesn't expect the tour to take long, except that Eric wants to spend several minutes in each room trying to memorise their layouts. Jack is incredibly glad he cleaned each room this morning. It gives him a chance to look at Eric as he occupies himself walking the length of Jack’s room and noting all the main items of furniture. Jack’s mostly seen Eric in his work clothes previous to this, but the casual tan chinos and button-up shirt suit him just as much as the white coat. Jack hadn’t realised his legs were so long, or his shoulders so wide. Jack almost gets caught staring a number of times.

"We've already done this room," Eric says as Jack leads him from the living room across the hall back to the kitchen.

"Uh, I know. I was going for another cookie," Jack says sheepishly.

Eric laughs, delighted. "Can't fault that."

"So, is that everything you need?" Jack asks when they’re back in the kitchen again.

"It's a really good start but...I should probably spend some more time here? If that's alright with you?” Eric rubs at the back of his head again. Jack can hear the  _ scritch  _ of his palm against the short hairs. “The thing is, the dreams don't always start with the room, you know? Sometimes it's a random little detail that I'll get, like..." Eric looks around. "Like maybe I'll see this first."

He points to a fridge magnet one of Jack's pupils gifted him for Christmas last year.

"Those kinds of details are hard to get from just one viewing. I wouldn't ask, but since the dreams are getting more frequent and I get less time to parse them out-”

"Of course you can come over again," Jack interrupts.

Eric sighs, dropping his shoulders. "Thanks, Jack. I feel bad for asking but I told myself, better that than missing something important in a dream because of my embarrassment."

Jack nods, finishing off his cookie and wondering if it's a sensible decision to go straight for a third cookie.

"What are you doing now? Did you want to stay over for a bit?" Jack didn’t realise he was going to ask until the words are leaving his mouth, but it’s as good a way as any to start to take them to a more personal relationship.

"Well, I don't have anything on," Eric half-answers.

“Is that a yes?” Jack checks.

Eric smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. Why not.”

"Great. I can make tea or coffee or something. Then I'll feel less bad for having another cookie."

Eric laughs. "You should never feel guilty for baked goods."

Jack smiles. "I'll keep that in mind."

Eric stays and Jack smiles his whole way through making them a pot of tea, feeling nervous and excited and a little short of breath.

They settle in the living room with tea and Eric's tupperware of cookies open on the coffee table. Jack puts one of his records on and Eric walks around the room again, spending time looking at everything from Jack’s power sockets to the cracks in the paint on his ceiling.

Jack sits on his couch and watches Eric for the next 10 or so minutes until Eric settles into the single lounge chair at one end of the coffee table to Jack’s left. He reaches for a cookie and breaks half off, leaving the other half in the container. 

"If I look much longer I'm not going to be taking anything in anyway," Eric explains. 

Jack accepts the explanation, though he honestly wouldn’t mind if Eric spent another 10 minutes, and then another 10, going from room to room. The record he put on plays itself out. When he returns from flipping it onto side B, Eric fixes his gaze on Jack. 

"Can I ask you a question?" 

"Yeah. Sure."

"I was thinking about you the other night."

Jack's stomach does a strange manoeuvre which seems to involve a tuck and roll; it's off-putting. 

"I realised I don't know what your Gift is," Eric continues. Jack focuses back on Eric. "I know people don't normally ask outright but I kept thinking, what if ours are compatible. Like yours can help me help you. Help me save you."

Eric looks hopefully to Jack.

"I don't think there was a question in there," Jack points out.

Eric huffs. "Sure you teach music and not English?"

Jack laughs. "I'm sure."

Eric crosses a leg beneath him on the lounge chair and leans an arm along the armrest so he can lean closer to the couch Jack is on.

"Here's the question. What is your Gift?"

Jack shakes his head. "It's not going to help us, unfortunately."

"Ah." Eric puts his chin on his outstretched arm so he's almost looking at Jack from beneath his lashes. "Will you tell me anyway? I'm incredibly curious. I've been trying to figure it out but it's not anything obvious."

"It's not," Jack agrees.

Eric sighs. "You're not going to give me a straight answer, are you?"

"I don't mind telling you," Jack says with honesty, "I'm just really enjoying hearing you try to figure it out."

Eric's expression turns determined. "Alright then. 20 questions?"

Jack laughs. "Why not." Anything that keeps him in Eric’s company longer sounds good to him.

Eric toes his shoes off and rearranges himself to sit cross-legged on the couch. Jack loves how comfortable he’s become here after only an hour.

Eric folds his hands together and stares at Jack. Jack feels no pressure beneath Eric's stare, but his stomach does a tuck and roll again and he finds himself straightening his posture.

"Is it one of the Big 20 Gifts?"

Jack shakes his head and holds up one finger.

"If I look around this room will I find a clue as to what it is?"

Jack shakes his head and raises a second finger.

He's holding up eight fingers by the time Eric gets a question in the ballpark.

"Is it to do with the senses?"

Jack grins. "Yep."

Eric throws his head back. "Finally. Oh my goodness. Alright. Oh! Is it about touch?"

Jack hesitates over his answer. Touch is a catalyst but it's not the main component.

"Yes."

"Thought so, with the gloves and scarves."

"And no," Jack adds, though he's impressed by Eric's reasoning. He hadn’t realised Eric had picked up on that.

Eric’s jaw drops. "What?"

Jack breaks the rules to give him some more information. "Yes, it's to do with touch, but it's not just touch." 

Eric bites his lip. "Is the other thing a sense as well?"

Jack nods.

Eric sighs. "Thank fuck. Don't know where I would have gone after that."

Jack wiggles his fingers. "You're on eleven now."

"Hearing?" Eric guesses.

"No. Twelve."

"Sight?"

"Yes. That's the other one."

Eric uncrosses his legs, putting his feet flat on the floor. "Okay. That’s enough questions for me. I'm calling that a win. Wanna fill me in on the details?"

"Yes." Jack goes silent and raises another finger.

It takes a second for the joke to land, then Eric laughs. "Dad humour going strong, I see."

Jack shrugs and drops his hands finally. "I try."

Eric rolls his eyes at Jack's grin.

"So. Touch and sight," Eric says. "How do they go together?"

Jack’s learnt it’s better to explain as simply as possible. He catches Eric’s eye before saying, "When I touch someone, I can see through their eyes for the next hour."

Eric freezes for a moment and Jack awaits his reaction with a sudden rush of nerves. 

"That's…" Eric frowns for a moment. "Different. You can see  _ through _ their eyes?"

Jack nods. "Yeah. Whatever they're looking at—seeing—I can too."

Eric opens and shuts his mouth a few times, composing his thoughts. Jack watches him doing it. The sudden nerves are unfortunate but expected with the way he wants things to go between Eric and himself. There's always hesitation when he explains his Gift. He knows it's on the intrusive side of the scale. He hadn’t thought to worry about that with Eric. He hopes his gut is right.

"I'm trying to picture it, but I can't," Eric says after a minute of staring off into the middle distance, giving Jack a chance to really notice how Eric's new haircut makes the angles of his face more pronounced.

Eric leans forward in his chair. “How does it work? What do you see when your Gift is working?" 

Jack can’t see any fear or disgust in Eric’s eyes—all reactions he’s been a recipient of in the past. He starts to let his nerves go.

“It’s like…” Jack looks around for a way to describe it. He shifts along the couch until he's at the end closest to Eric. “Here. Look at the window.”

Jack gestures to the living room window that faces onto the street. He waits until Eric is facing it. “What do you see?” he asks Eric.

“Um. I see the road and the apartments across the street.”

Jack shakes his head. “No. You’re looking  _ out _ the window. You need to look  _ at _ the window.”

Eric turns back to him. “At the window?”

Jack nods.

“Well, okay.” Eric turns his head again. “I’m looking  _ at _ the window.”

“And what do you see?” Jack prompts, eyes tracing over Eric’s face; the gentle slope of his nose and the almost invisible freckles along his cheekbones. 

Eric’s mouth pulls down at the corners as he looks, until his mouth opens with a quiet, “Oh!”

He turns to look at Jack. Jack realises he’s been leaning in closer to Eric when he feels his exhale across his cheeks.

“You see it?” Jack asks, slowly pushing himself back an inch on the couch.

Eric nods. “It’s like the inside and the outside are overlaid. Like those slide projectors they used to use in school."

“Yeah.” Jack smiles. “That’s exactly it.”

“Wow,” Eric breathes out. “Doesn’t that get extremely confusing for you?” he asks, tilting his head.

“My mum taught me early on to tune the vision, kind of like a radio or an old TV set,” Jack explains. “So I can choose to focus on one or the other, or both at once. Though you’re right, it was confusing. Still can be.”

Eric nods. “So…”

Jack knows the question that’s coming, but he doesn’t push Eric as his fingers tap on the armrest of his chair.

“So, all those times I saved you...Have you been seeing through my eyes?”

“Not all the times.”

Eric lets out a little sigh. “Wait. Not all the times? So some of the times?”

Jack shrugs. “My Gift only kicks in if there’s been skin-to-skin contact.”

“Ah. The gloves and scarves make sense now.” Eric nods slowly. “Wait, doesn’t that make it strange with-” Eric slaps his mouth shut.

Jack has an idea of where the thought was going and the blush on Eric’s cheeks would seem to confirm it.

“It’s actually only happened three times, me seeing through your eyes,” Jack informs Eric, then adds on in a whispered tease, "Not the sex thing."

"Right. Ah." Eric presses his hands quickly to his face then drops them. "Sorry for crossing wildly over the line there," he apologises, avoiding Jack's gaze.

"It's fine. I've heard it all before," he reassures.

Eric smiles gratefully at him. He takes a deep breath then claps his hands together.

"So, only three times?" Eric checks.

Jack nods.

"But I-" Eric's mouth moves as he silently counts. “I’ve saved you seven times now, including that first one.”

“We've only had skin contact three times though.”

“Huh.” Eric falls silent. He looks to the window again, fingers resuming their tapping on the armrest of his chair.

"Wondering if I looked through your eyes and what I saw?" Jack interrupts Eric’s moment.

Eric turns, eyebrows raised. "I was, actually. How'd you know?"

"Like I said, I've heard it all before. I took a guess in case you were holding back after almost asking me what happens when I have sex with someone."

Eric groans. "You're going to keep bringing that up, aren't you?"

Jack grins. "You blush so easily."

"Who is the one saving whose life?" Eric reminds Jack, but Jack can tell he’s only teasing.

Jack holds his palms up in surrender.

"I've never looked, by the way. Just the few seconds it takes for me to tune it out. That's it." 

Eric nods. "Thanks for being honest."

_ Present Day _

Eric wakes up with a pounding heart and tingling palms, not a usual component of his dreams. He stares at the ceiling in Jack's music room and waits until his heart rate is somewhat normal. Then he goes to find Jack.

He knows that there’s a conversation looming between them, one about feelings and his Gift and how it’s developing. He really thought he’d have more time to prepare, but his latest dream is bringing him right up to the deadline.

Eric follows his ear and the quiet plucking of strings leads him back to the living room. He watches Jack for a few seconds, heart blooming in his chest.

"Hey," Jack greets him from the couch. He's still in loose pyjamas, plain blue top and checkered pants, but it looks like he's been up for a while; a coffee in front of him and a plate with toast crumbs. "Sleep well?"

"I know where it's going to happen," Eric tells Jack.

Jack straightens up. "Where."

Eric grabs his phone from where it's been charging overnight and brings up his photos, scrolling until he finds the one. He passes the phone to Jack.

The calluses on Jack's fingers catch Eric as he takes the phone. Eric never has gotten used to the feel of Jack’s skin against his own, it thrills every time. Eric's skin echoes with it.

Jack frowns at the screen. "I don't recognise this room at all."

Eric was expecting that. After his first few times visiting Jack's house they'd settled into the rhythm of it. Jack's barely seen Eric's front door, let alone been inside. Only in Eric's dreams. And now, apparently, in Eric's  _ dreams _ .

He swallows and tries to sound normal when he tells Jack, "It's my bedroom."

Jack looks up at him, gaze heavy. "What are we doing in your bedroom?"

Eric focuses on breathing normally with Jack’s focus on him. "Haven't seen yet. I only picked the location because I recognised some of the things on my desk."

Jack takes another look at the picture, then passes the phone back.

"What could we be doing in your bedroom?"

A pulse stretches from Jack's fingertips into Eric and his brain goes  _ there _ . He tries not to show it on his face.

"I haven't seen yet," Eric repeats, wrapping his fingers tightly around the phone.

"We'll figure it out," Jack says, standing up. "We're ahead of schedule now at least."

"That is true," Eric concedes.

Jack wraps an arm around Eric in a one-armed hug. The tension and frustration are still there, but with Jack’s touch, it fades away into the background.

"Come on,” Jack says gently, his breath tickling the top of Eric’s head. “I think it's my turn to make you breakfast."


	2. Chapter 2

_Almost at the Middle_

“Sorry I’m late,” Eric apologises as he slips into the seat across from Jack at the small table, unwinding a scarf from his neck. “I know I was the one who recommended this cafe but I’ve never actually been before, just heard it was good from a friend.”

“That’s fine,” Jack tells him. “I haven’t been here long.”

Once they're settled with coffees, Jack asks about Eric’s dream. This is their first time working together on Eric’s dreams. He’s not sure if they’re doing social pleasantries and small talk. He’s not sure if Eric wants them to. He’s not sure if he does.

"I don't know yet. It's that Polaroid thing," Eric explains. "I don't have a lot of it yet. That's why you're here."

"Right. How is this going to work? Do you describe the dream to me?"

"Huh." Eric folds his hands on the table. "I really should have put more thought into this. If I had a paper and pen I could sketch out what I've got so far."

"Hang on. I've probably got something." Jack ruffles in his backpack and unearths some music stave paper and a pencil. He passes it over to Eric who takes it with a grateful smile and begins to draw while talking.

"So it's like I said with the Polaroid thing. I've had four dreams now so there's enough there. I'm hoping you can work out where it takes place at least."

Jack watches Eric draw. He's in no way an artist, but it's still interesting to watch his hands move across the page. Though after several seconds, it occurs to Jack he may just be watching Eric’s hands. 

"Here," Eric says before Jack can dig into what that means. "Recognise it?"

Eric swivels the paper so it's facing Jack. It takes Jack a second to ignore the black stave lines running under Eric's drawing, but luckily he's had a lot of practise with his Gift and this is a very similar thing.

He pulls the drawing closer.

"There are some big dead patches still." Eric points them out with the pencil.

"It looks like it could be the laundry room in my apartment block," Jack says after staring at the paper for a minute.

"How certain are you?" Eric asks.

Jack looks at Eric. "Pretty certain. Like ninety-two percent maybe.” Jack traces his finger over a half-drawn object on the page. "That looks like it could be the fern the landlord has down there."

"You have a plant in your laundry room?" Eric's eyebrows raise. "Fancy. My old apartment block just had dust bunnies."

"I wouldn't get too excited about it. It's fake."

"Still." Eric folds his drawing and puts it into the back pocket of his jeans. "I'll add to this when I can, but it sounds like we know the where. Just got to work on the when."

"How long will that take?" Jack asks, breaking off a piece of the muffin he bought for them to share.

Eric shrugs. "I'm working in the dark here as much as you. Normally, we get to sit with the dreams for years and it's incredibly slow learning anything. So identifying a location after four dreams is actually phenomenal if this were a regular situation."

"Does that mean the dreams are developing quicker?" Jack checks, trying to use the photography terminology Eric likes.

"Yeah, so far. Fingers crossed it keeps that way." Eric picks up a knife and cuts a quarter of the muffin off. "If it does, I'd say another…six dreams until we can be absolutely certain of the event." Eric bites a section off his quarter of the muffin.

"How long to have six more dreams?"

Eric shrugs again. "I've been keeping track. Well, I've had Justin help me keep track. He's a whiz at excel and volunteered himself. He gets an honest kick out of it and it's less work for me. So." Eric shrugs and takes another bite of the muffin.

Jack's stomach does a strange twisting motion when Eric mentions Justin. He shoves a large piece of muffin into his mouth to try and distract himself.

"He tells me I average between two and three dreams a month."

Jack swallows the enormous mouthful. "Then this thing probably won't happen for another two months then? That's good."

Eric's mouth twists down. "Is it?" he asks almost soft enough Jack doesn't hear.

Jack tilts his head, encouraging Eric to continue.

Eric sighs and drops his hands into his lap. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I'd never let you in on what's going on." Eric looks at Jack, forehead furrowed. "I can't imagine it's pleasant living life like this, knowing the possibility of death is just around the corner."

Jack doesn't want to tell Eric he's worrying too much over this, because he knows that's futile. Eric's going to feel what Eric's going to feel. "We're all going to go eventually," Jack points out instead, which he realises as he says it, has the same effect as what he was trying not to say.

"Yeah, eventually." Eric chews at his lower lip. "I'm worried I'm going to turn you into a hyper-paranoid person, worrying every time you do your laundry that it might be the last thing you ever do."

Jack shakes his head and reaches a gloved hand across the table, though Eric's hands remain beneath it.

"I'm not worried," Jack says, looking into Eric's eyes. "I know you'll be there."

Eric blinks then ducks his head. His hair flops down but Jack can see the blush on his cheekbones.

"No pressure then," Eric says, laughing wryly. He lifts his head back up and pushes his hair off his forehead. "I'll just be stressed enough for the both of us."

Jack draws his hand back to his side of the table. "I thought you'd made peace with your stress."

"Ah, you know," Eric shrugs a dismissive shoulder. "Sometimes it's fine and sometimes it's not."

Jack frowns. He doesn't want to be the cause of that in Eric, not when this man—his Guardian Angel—is committed to saving his life on a regular basis.

"What can I do to make it better more often?"

Eric bites his lip again and straightens the knife on the table. "Well actually, I was thinking—and we only need to do this if you're comfortable with it—but I was wondering if I could see your place?"

"You want to look at my apartment?"

Eric nods. "I think it would be helpful for me to see it. And any place you spend a lot of time, not just where you live."

"Of course," Jack agrees immediately. "If that's going to make things easier for you. Of course you can come over."

Eric sighs out and smiles at Jack. He stops pushing the knife around and reaches for his coffee instead, grimacing after taking a sip. 

"Cold," Eric explains at Jack's look. "I didn't realise we'd been talking so long."

Jack checks his watch, surprised to see Eric is right; it's been nearly an hour. "Let me grab you another one. Do you have somewhere to be this afternoon?"

Eric shakes his head. "That would be great. As long as you don't have plans?"

Jack thinks about the cleaning that's waiting for him at home this afternoon and shakes his head. Turns out, he does want to get to know Eric after all.

_ Present Day _

"So you'll just never come to my place," Eric announces in a slight panic after they’ve finished the omelettes Jack made them for breakfast. "I think that's the solution."

"You know you can't get around the vision like that,” Jack reminds him gently. “It's one of the first things you told me about your Gift."

"I hate this. I really hate this." Most people would enjoy dreaming frequently about someone they cared for. Not if they had dreams like Eric’s.

Eric folds forward and presses his forehead to Jack's kitchen table. He wonders if he's got a tipping point with all this. He wonders if it's close. He wonders if soon he’ll stop swallowing the words and just tell Jack he loves him and about the details of every thought he’s ever had about him and his hands and his smile and the way he says Eric’s name.

Jack pulls Eric's chair back from the table and grabs his hand. “Come on."

"What are you doing?"

"Distracting you.”

Jack pulls Eric back into the music room he slept in last night. He strips the sheet and Eric helps him re-fold the pull-out couch he’d left unmade in his haste earlier this morning.

Jack grabs his acoustic guitar and swings it onto the couch.

Eric blinks. "You're going to serenade me?" It’s a fantasy of his, but he’s always imagined the setting differently.

Jack shakes his head. "Guess again."

"Uh, you want help with the Lizzo song?"

"Nope." Jack pauses. "Yes, actually. But not right now. Now, I'm going to teach you to play."

Jack pulls the acoustic guitar out of its case.

"Really? Now?"

"Yeah." Jack puts the empty case on the floor and sits on the couch. "How many times have you said you'd love to learn?"

"Many."

"So pick a song."

Jack pats the space on his right. Eric sits down.

"Any song?" Eric checks.

"Any song,” Jack confirms. “Get the chords for it on your phone."

Eric suddenly doesn't know any songs. "You'll sing and I'll play?"

Jack laughs. "There's one singer between us and we know it's not me."

"You can sing." Eric wouldn’t have that fantasy of being serenaded if he couldn’t. He loves Jack’s voice. The depth in it, the way his accent shapes his vowels, how sometimes when he’s tired it gets a little scratchy.

"I can carry a tune. You can  _ sing _ ." Jack offers the compliment easily and Eric's heart does its familiar two-step.

"But we'll just start with the chords first," Jack adds, tuning the guitar with his perfect pitch.

Eric watches Jack. Since the day in the restaurant, he's become fascinated by Jack's hands; the thickness of his fingers and the way his nails are always neatly clipped. A few times, Jack’s made Eric sit and listen to him play one of his arrangements so he can get feedback. Eric loves watching his fingers move over the guitar strings, even more so than he’s enchanted by the hair that falls down across Jack’s forehead as he leans over his guitar. It amazes Eric every time that Jack makes it look so effortless.

Eric finally remembers a song.

"'Halo'," Jack reads off Eric's phone. "Do I know this one?" He starts playing through the chords. "Sing the first line?" Jack asks Eric.

Eric obliges him. 

"Oh yeah. Yeah," Jack says, smiling at Eric. "This one. Okay. We can do this."

_ Just After the Beginning _

Eric is easy to spot in the small optometry practise with its open plan and low shelves.

“Jack!” Eric says, spotting him straight away. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to give you my number."

The man beside Eric chokes on air, then says, "Wicked game, man."

"Justin!" Eric hisses, pushing the other man’s side. "It's not like that. Jack's the guy from my dreams."

Justin runs his eyes over Jack who shifts uncomfortably beneath his gaze.

"Yeah, don't blame you," he says when he’s finished looking.

“What? What do you—” Eric puts a hand to his forehead. Jack watches his cheeks turn an embarrassed red. "Not my dreams. My  _ dreams." _

" _ Oh, _ ” Justin exclaims, eyes widening. “ _ Those _ dreams.” Justin looks back over to Jack, who stands, hands in his pockets.

"Don't you have an appointment to get ready for?" Eric suggests after a silence builds between them. He pushes at Justin while sending an apologetic look to Jack. 

Justin lets Eric push him into one of the office rooms at the back of the store. Jack has his eyes on Eric so he catches the thumbs up Justin gives him over Eric’s shoulder when Eric turns his back. He chooses to ignore the gesture and whatever message Justin is trying to convey.

"Sorry, Jack,” Eric apologises immediately when it’s just them in the main store area. “Hope Justin didn't make you uncomfortable. He's very open, which I know is a bit much for some people upfront."

“It’s fine. Are you two friends?” Jack is curious as to the nature of their relationship. Justin obviously knows about Eric’s Gift but that hardly means anything without Jack knowing if Eric’s the kind of person to share that information readily.

“Yeah. We were actually in college at the same time, but not really close. Somehow we both ended up working here though and bonded pretty much straight away,” Eric tells him. “It’s good actually, working with a friend. I thought it might be a bit stressful, but it’s great. Anyway. Sorry.” Eric crosses his arms over the top of a shelf of glasses and smiles at Jack. “That was me talking way too much. You said you're here to give me your number?"

"Yes." Jack brings his thoughts back on track. "You mentioned how stressed having the dreams was making you."

Eric nods. "Yeah, they are. But I've made a tentative peace with it. I'd much prefer to have them and be able to save you than…" Eric trails off. "Well. You know."

"I do. Still, I had a thought of how I can make it less stressful.”

“I’m all ears,” Eric says, smiling at Jack.

“I thought if I give you my number, you could talk me through your dreams. I may be able to help you figure out locations or other details."

Eric blinks. "Jack, that's…incredibly smart. And generous. Thank you.”

Jack likes hearing the compliment, as does he like seeing the pleased smile Eric gives him at the same time. It’s much preferable to the tense worried frown from their first meeting.

"Here." Jack hands Eric a slip of paper on which he's already printed his contact details. “Let me know the next time you have one of your, uh, PPDs? Your premonitions? And I’ll do my best to help.”

“I will.” Eric takes the paper and stares at it a moment before slipping it into the pocket of his coat.

"So how did you find me here?" Eric asks after pocketing Jack's number.

"You were wearing the coat when we talked the other day."

Eric looks down at his white coat with the name of the optometry practice embroidered on the front pocket. "Right. Smart again. It's going to be good having you help with the dreams, I think."

"I hope so. I don't want you to be needlessly anxious on my account."

Eric tilts his head, sighing. "A little late for that. I mean, I'm normally an optimist but I'm moving through the dark with what my Gift’s doing here."

The furrow lines around Eric's eyes return, reminding Jack of the other day in the park. It feels wrong seeing them on Eric's face now when he knows a little of the man and knows he doesn't deserve the relentless responsibility for Jack's life his Gift has burdened him with.

“So you're an optimist optometrist,” Jack tries a joke. It garners an obviously unexpected laugh from Eric. Jack's glad to hear it.

“That’s terrible. Such a dad joke." Eric looks embarrassed on his behalf when he looks at Jack. "Maybe the universe is trying to kill you off for your sense of humour.”

“Me and every dad out there?” It pleases Jack that Eric can joke about it even through his self-confessed worry. Though Jack gets the sense it's a little forced for Eric.

Someone walks into the store then. Jack feels the interruption but really he's the intruder in Eric's place of work. Eric passes them on to Justin for an eye check while Jack waits, hands in his back pockets, wanting to say goodbye and not walk out while Eric's occupied.

Eric returns from the desk over to where Jack's positioned himself by the side wall cabinets filled with different glasses behind locked glass panels. 

“So, you’re a dad then?” Eric asks him.

“Uh, no?” Jack turns to look at Eric, surprised by the content of the question and the fact Eric's asking him one in the first place. Jack assumed Eric would want him to leave so he could get back to work. He’s under no obligation to chat with a man he’s met properly only once before, a man who isn’t a customer. Jack doesn't mind spending more time if that's what Eric wants though. It's more appealing than working out his tutoring schedule for the next term.

“Oh, sorry. You referenced the dad joke thing and I assumed.”

“I didn't mean it in that way."

Eric apologises again.

"It’s fine," Jack assures him. "I do feel like one sometimes.”

Eric narrows his eyes at Jack.

“I run the music program at the local high school,” Jack explains. “I get called 'dad' more often than you might think."

"How embarrassing," Eric remarks.

Jack hums in agreement. "And I get involved in much more student drama than I’d like."

“I can imagine.” Eric says, laughing, possibly at the expression on Jack’s face. 

The next person who walks in is there for an appointment with Eric. Jack says a quick goodbye and leaves with a promise from Eric to call him.

_ Present Day _

The day passes without either of them bringing up the dream or the fact that the sun is setting and Eric is still at Jack’s place, though there are several times where Jack looks a certain way at Eric that brings goosebumps to the back of his neck. He never says anything though.

Leaving Jack’s place is harder each time with the dreams as frequent as they are and Eric’s feelings seeming to have an infinite capacity for deepening. 

Eric is once again on a cushion on the floor by Jack’s coffee table, finishing off the sketch from yesterday now that he knows it’s meant to be his bedroom. The window was in the right place, at least. 

Jack’s been clearing out his school inbox but the sound of typing petered off a few minutes back. “Eric?” Jack says his name softly.

Eric looks over his shoulder to Jack. His hair is disheveled and there’s that same curious expression on his face, lips pulling down slightly at the corners.

“I think I need to tell you something.”

Eric has no control over the way his palms grow clammy suddenly. “What is it?”

“Can you—Do you mind?” Jack gestures to the couch.

“Yes. Of course.” Eric drops the pencil and closes the sketchbook, sitting on the couch next to Jack, one leg tucked beneath him so he can face Jack.

Jack puts his laptop on the coffee table and then looks at Eric, frown still evident. He clenches his hands on his knees and takes a deep breath. Eric waits patiently. He doesn’t know what Jack feels he needs to tell him, but considering his tells, and that Eric’s certain he’s been sitting on it for most of the day, he knows it’s something serious.

After a minute, Jack opens his mouth and says, “Eric, I'm sorry. I think I saw one of your dreams.”

Eric freezes. 

“It was just like you’ve described them, with the fog.” Jack moves his arms, crossing them over his chest. “It was a while ago now, and I didn’t say anything at the time because I had doubts that it was one of your PPDs. I thought, maybe—hoped—that it was just a regular dream.”

Jack’s gaze moves over Eric’s shoulder for a second before landing back on his face.

“Then it happened. The dream I saw. That you had about us. It happened exactly as you’d dreamed it and I’d seen it.”

Eric shifts on the couch, tucking his arms beneath his legs. "I didn't know you could use your Gift that way."

"Neither did I. I'm sorry," Jack apologises again.

"It's alright you saw it. You know I trust you." 

Jack breathes out.

Eric swallows. “The dream. Was it you teaching me guitar this morning?” he asks, already aware of what the answer will be.

Jack nods.

“I remember that dream," Eric says softly. "The night after I first met your work friends. You drove me home and I fell asleep in the car."

Jack nods again.

The thing is, Eric’s been having dreams like that for a while. They’re dreams, but they’re not premonitions, or more specifically, not PPDs. He’s seen the graph on Justin’s spreadsheet. From the day he touched Jack, the dreams have been morphing. Less about death and more about something softer and infinitely more enjoyable to dream about.

For the longest time he thought they weren’t premonitions at all, then about two weeks ago the first one came true. It was almost nothing, so small Eric might have missed it if not for déjà vu hitting him like a thunderclap. The first thing he did was call his parents with a new theory about how his Gift was mutating. They’ve both been trying to help him confirm it, but it’s still just a theory. It sits right with him though. He thinks his Gift is finally settling into what it’s been trying to be his whole life.

He hasn’t told Jack about his suspicion. Eric knows it isn’t fair because it concerns them both and if Eric's theory is right, Jack is the catalyst. So Eric can’t lie now, not when Jack is bringing it up outright, not when it has consequences for both of them. Not when he’s known this conversation has to happen for weeks already.

The silence sits thick between them. Though he knows he has to, Eric is afraid to break it. They won’t be able to come back from this with the same dynamic that they have at this moment. He takes a deep breath, holds it in as long as he can. Then he looks at Jack.

“Do you remember about three months ago when you asked me again about my Gift mutating?”

Jack nods. His eyes are so blue. “I remember.”

“I told you no-one had any new theories, which was true at the time, but about two weeks ago, something happened and I realised what my Gift was trying to do. What I  _ think  _ it’s trying to do.”

Jack uncrosses his arms. He turns his torso slightly and lays his right arm along the back of the couch so his hand rests close to Eric's shoulder. “What’s it trying to do?”

“Have I ever told you what my dad’s Gift is?” Eric asks instead of answering Jack’s question. He needs to give Jack some backstory for his theory to make sense.

“No.” 

“Right. Okay.” Eric can see the hairs on Jack’s arms where he’s pushed the sleeve of his henley up. He looks there instead of Jack's face as he speaks. “Well, we call him a matchmaker. He can see connections between people. Not everyday connections, only really strong ones.”

“Like what?”

“Like love.” Eric lets the word settle. He looks to see how Jack's reacting. Jack’s eyes tighten at the corners, it’s almost weariness.

“True, deep love," Eric whispers. 

Out the corner of his eye, Eric sees Jack’s fingers curl into his palm. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’m trying to answer your question about what my Gift is doing. I think it’s somehow a mix of both my parents’. Jack, I-” Eric’s words catch in his throat. He’s conscious of how close he and Jack are sitting and somehow managing not to touch. The absence is more present than if they were touching. 

Eric takes a deep breath and pulls him and Jack and their relationship over the edge of a cliff.

“I’m saying I think the dreams have been trying to connect us.”

Jack doesn’t say anything. This time, Eric can't pick a reaction at all, unless the careful absolute stillness is the reaction.

“I think my Gift has been changing with my feelings," Eric continues. "They started just with Mama’s Gift—the premonitions of your death—but then when I actually met you and we grew close…" Eric pulls his hands from beneath his thighs and starts twisting them together. He clasps them to still them, so tight the skin goes white around his knuckles. "I think it somehow sensed our connection, like my dad’s Gift could have. I think my Gift picked up on how I am—how I was-" Eric stops and sighs. He lifts his gaze from his hands to Jack's face. Now isn't the time for fudging the truth.

"How I  _ do  _ feel for you. I think the dreams have been changing to reflect that."

Eric's cheeks grow warmer with every word he says as Jack's listens with a literal unblinking focus. His eyes ghost over Eric's face. If it was possible for Eric to grip his hands together tighter he would.

Eric waits for Jack to call him out on his feelings.

“You said you didn’t know until two weeks ago," Jack says eventually, "but you must have been having the dreams before then.”

“Jack." Eric doesn't mean to put so much frustrated emotion into the word, like the lid on his feelings is coming loose. "I’ve been having dreams like that about you for  _ months _ .”

Jack flattens his palm out and his fingers bump against Eric's shoulder. Eric holds still.

“I asked because I’m just trying to figure out...I mean. The Gift isn’t forcing them to happen? Forcing you to like me.” The pinched look at Jack's eyes takes on a new meaning. 

Eric can't deny himself the urge to comfort. He unclasps his hands and drops a palm onto Jack's knee. “That’s not how the Gift works. It can’t see it if it’s not there.”

Jack's eyes flick between Eric's. "I...Sorry, I think I need you to spell this out. I don't want to assume. You're saying that you…"

"That I love you. Yes. For a while now and not because of the dreams," Eric reassures Jack.

Eric holds Jack’s gaze, though he feels too seen for comfort in the quiet that stretches second by second. Eric’s hand still rests on Jack’s knee, not wanting to cause discomfort with the physical intimacy now that Jack knows it comes from a place deeper than friendship, he goes to pull it away.

Jack’s hand lands on top of it and holds it in place.

“Would you—your Gift—be able to tell if I love you back?” Jack asks.

Eric swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

Jack takes a deep breath and then says so gently it’s almost a whisper, “So I guess I need to spell it out for you too.”

Jack’s hand shifts over Eric’s. It takes Eric’s brain a moment to register he’s trying to link their fingers together, so caught up as it is in predicting where Jack’s going with his sentence. Eric moves his hand up and Jack’s fingers slip between his own and curl down over the back of his palm.

“I may not have your Gift,” Jack says softly, eyes on Eric, “but I’ve been having dreams about you too.”

Eric’s stomach flips and his heart jumps into his throat. He whispers Jack’s name.

“I haven’t said anything because I didn’t want to put pressure on you when you already do so much for me, but I love you too, Eric.”

_ The Beginning _

Jack's ready for it the next time it happens. As his Guardian Angel makes to run away, he grabs his arm, being careful to wrap his hands over the sleeve of the man’s shirt.

The man pulls against it but Jack holds firm and eventually, the man turns and looks at Jack with wide brown eyes.

"I think we should talk," Jack says.

Jack's been thinking about it for the past few weeks. All these times this man has been in exactly the right place at exactly the right time to stop Jack falling, or choking, or some other variant of serious bodily harm, they can't all be a coincidence. Something is going on.

Surprisingly, the man doesn't try to argue with Jack.

He sighs out and his arm goes limp in Jack's hand. "Yeah. Suppose we should."

Jack buys them takeaway coffees from the cart in the park while the man makes a call to his work. Jack leads them to a bench looking out across a grassed oval backing onto a small forest area.

“I probably shouldn’t be away from work for too long,” the man says, taking his coffee from Jack’s hand. Their fingers bump but Jack has his gloves on so nothing happens.

Taking it as permission, Jack asks bluntly, "Why are you always around?"

"It's to do with my Gift," the man replies, then stops to take a sip of coffee. 

He doesn’t make moves to expand on his statement, so Jack prompts, "Which is?"

The man clears his throat then takes another sip of his coffee. Jack feels nerves start to creep in. He gets the sense this man is stalling for time—time he admitted to not having. 

After a moment, just when Jack is about to ask again, the man angles his body toward Jack and holds out a hand.

Jack looks at it, trying to work out how it could relate to this man's Gift. Is it related to touch, like Jack’s is?

"You’re meant to shake it," the man says eventually, though not unkindly.

"Right." Jack's glad it's cold enough that his gloves don't get a mention when he shakes the man's hand.

"My Gift is a little heavy, thematically speaking.” The man pulls his hand away. “Thought we should at least know each other's names before we get into it."

"Right," Jack repeats. 

"I’m Eric," the man—Eric—tells him.

"I'm Jack." 

“Nice to meet—Well, it’s not really meet, is it,” Eric says wryly. “Nice to talk to you. Even if the talking isn’t going to be...nice.” He frowns.

"Because of your Gift?" Jack tries to get them back on track. 

“Yeah.” Eric sighs and drinks more of his coffee, turning to look out across the park. “Got it from my mother’s side. We call them ‘Premonitions of Premature Death’," Eric tells Jack, pushing his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. "P-P-Ds.”

Jack keeps his eyes on Eric while the other man's face is turned away. He sees the slight tightening around his eyes as he speaks. 

“Sounds dramatic.” Jack can understand Eric's earlier 'heavy' comment. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, his brain starts connecting dots and it doesn’t help to diminish his nerves.

Eric shrugs but the tension still shows around his eyes. “I guess it kind of is, but I grew up with it, so I’m used to it.”

“How do the premonitions work?”

Eric takes a deep breath like he’s preparing. “We have dreams of someone dying, basically. And then we-" he pushes the air out in a rush, "try and save them.”

“Try?” Jack asks, unease growing.

“Well, we do have a 100% success rate, according to the family records." Eric manages a glance at Jack but quickly goes back to staring ahead. "We think it’s part of the power, but it’s not like we want to test for sure by purposefully not taking steps to save someone.”

“Of course. That would be-”

“Horribly unethical,” Eric finishes for him. The way he says the words makes Jack wonder if it was part of a speech his parents had given him about his Gift.

“Is there anything in your family records about why you dream of certain situations or people?” Jack asks, trying to figure out why he may be featuring in Eric’s most recent dreams. “Is it always someone close to where you are? People of a certain age?”

“No pattern.” Eric shakes his head and twists the lid around his takeaway cup. “There’s not really enough of a sample size to figure anything out because-” He stops talking.

“Because?” Jack prompts after half a minute of silence in which Eric continues to twist the cap around his coffee cup. For someone who didn’t want to be away from work for long, he’s taking a lot of time to shape each sentence.

Eric takes another several seconds to speak. Jack’s very aware of the fact that Eric seems to be forcibly not looking at him.

“The thing about the dreams,” Eric begins slowly, “is you only get one.”

“You only have dreams about one person?” That would explain the lack of sample size and why Eric has been around him so much.

“No.” Eric pulls his legs back in and tucks then under the bench. “Only one premonition. Ever. It starts when you’re very young and they’re very unclear. They develop over time, like the world’s slowest Polaroid, my mum likes to say.”

“So multiple dreams, but they’re always the same… The same scene?” Jack tries to confirm he’s understanding what Eric is saying.

“Yes. That’s it.”

“Okay.” As Jack thinks it over, he realises something. "But you’ve saved me more than once.”

Jack’s starting to understand more of Eric’s worry, why his forehead is still creased.

Eric clears his throat. “Yeah. That’s the scary part.”

He turns his head to look at Jack finally. Jack can see the fear there. 

“I’m still having dreams about you dying." He whispers it but Jack hears a faint tremble in the words. "New dreams. New scenarios.”

“Maybe the Gift has mutated?” Jack has heard of it happening, though it’s incredibly rare.

“Yeah. I’m not sure what else it could be, but knowing that doesn’t help. Mutated into what?”

Jack swallows. Eric’s gaze on him is like a weight. “Should I be worried?” It comes out hushed, a little of Eric’s worry bleeding across to Jack.

“Honestly?” Eric asks, and then actually waits for Jack to reply.

“Please,” Jack tells him.

“I have no idea.” Eric shakes his head and breaks their eye-contact again. “I have no idea,” Eric repeats, sounding hopeless and lost. “My parents don’t know anything about it. Mama’s been going through the family archives but there’s nothing in there about anything like this. This doesn’t—isn’t supposed to happen. It’s always been one dream, one person. You save them and then that’s it. No more premonitions. Your Gift has fulfilled its purpose and you live the rest of your life essentially Giftless.”

“It sounds like a very stressful situation to be in," Jack tries to sympathise.

“It is. And normally I’m an optimist. But it’s, you know, not pleasant to keep seeing someone dying in your dreams, even someone you don't know”

Jack hums. There’s not much he can say to that. It is a macabre situation. Jack lifts his coffee to his lips during the silence before he remembers he’s already finished his drink.

“So, you’re going to be around more," Jack surmises their discussion.

Eric lifts a shoulder. “The dreams haven’t stopped.”

Jack thinks it over for a moment and finds he won’t mind that. He’s been getting used to his Guardian Angel.

_ Present Day _

There’s no question of Eric going home after their conversation. The evening is like a well-rehearsed routine with the lighting cues changed. Jack’s smiles mean more and his touches  _ are  _ more. A hand on Eric’s back there and a fingertip on his cheekbone there and lips on his temple there.

This time, Eric spends the night in Jack’s bed. They fall asleep with hands and legs entwined, hoping Jack will get another glimpse into Eric’s dream.

When Eric wakes up the next morning, Jack is leaning over him. His thumb is brushing slowly over Eric’s cheeks and his eyebrows are drawn down.

“Hey. What happened?” Jack asks softly.

Eric takes a breath but it catches and stalls in his throat. He realises he’s crying. 

“Eric? Is everything alright? I saw your dream again, but you know I can’t hear the dreams when I’m in them,” Jack reminds him.

Eric nods, tilting his head to kiss Jack’s palm. “I’m good. It’s all good.”

Eric pulls Jack down by the shoulder so they’re lying face to face, moving his hand to rest on Jack’s cheek. 

“They’re done,” he tells Jack. “The dreams.”

“What? Really?”

Eric nods, biting down on a smile.

Jack leans in and kisses Eric soundly. It’s still a new sensation and it overwhelms Eric in the best way.

“How do you know the premonitions are over? Tell me what we said in the dream,” Jack asks when he pulls back. He runs a hand down Eric’s side and pulls his leg up over Jack’s.

“Okay,” Eric complies, moving his hand around to thread through Jack’s hair. The touching between them is a lot, but it feels natural. The lid of Eric’s ‘do not open’ box is way off and he’s indulging every thought he’s ever had about Jack’s hair and lips and back and chest and hands and arms and bend of his knee.

“You asked if the dreams had come back and I—It’s crazy,” Eric shakes his head, recalling the surreal conversation. “I brought up  _ this night _ . I said ‘not since the night we said we loved each other’, then you said...Then you said…”

“Eric. What did I say?”

“You said,” Eric whispers, looking into Jack’s eyes, “You said, ‘It’s been four years since that night. I forgot I was going to ask.’”

Jack’s hand slides up to Eric’s waist. “Four years?”

Eric nods, pressing his forehead against Jack’s. “Four years.”

He tilts his head to kiss Jack, sweet and slow, knowing there will be years of these morning moments to be shared between them.

“Do you think you’ll miss having the dreams?” Jack asks Eric several minutes later, having rolled them so Eric’s on top of him, one hand resting on Eric’s back beneath his shirt.

“Not sure yet. I was kind of liking the new ones,” Eric jokes, nipping Jack playfully on the lips. “But really, it's probably for the best."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. They were never meant to be a lifelong thing,” Eric reminds Jack, tracing a finger over Jack’s collarbone. “And I’m sick of worrying about the future.”

“I’m glad. I never liked seeing you get worked up about saving me from my next fatality. Even back before we were friends.”

Though Eric knows that Jack loves him, this confession is almost sweeter. He kisses Jack again because his lips are right there and there’s no need to fight the urge anymore.

“You know what though?” Eric asks, folding his hands over Jack’s chest to rest his chin on.

“What?” Jack asks, smiling.

“I’m sure I’ll still be having plenty of dreams about us that are completely from my own subconscious.”

_ Before the Beginning _

Eric races down the corridors of the local school, cursing traffic and his phone’s GPS for making him later than he should be. He’s panting and sweaty and his shoes pinch because he didn’t think he’d have to be doing so much running. His hair must be showing beneath the cap he’d so carefully placed on his head that morning but there’s no time to fix it.

Classroom 08. Classroom 09. Classroom 10.

He has to turn down another corridor before, finally, he hears the sound that’s been haunting his dreams since childhood. The melody of a song playing, echoing down the empty hall of a school.

There’s one door open along the hallway and Eric rushes towards it.

He rounds the corner and there is his dream come to life before his eyes. A music room. Guitars on the wall and pianos lined up in a row at the back. A record player spinning a vinyl, the song one Eric could sing from memory since he was twelve.

He has no breath for singing now and no time.

Grateful he’s so familiar with the layout of the room, he darts through the maze of instruments and into the storeroom at the back of the classroom where the man he’s here to save is on a ladder, maneuvering the components of a drum kit off the top shelf to a pile at the foot of the ladder. Eric sees the man adjust the floor tom, ready to pull it down, and that’s his cue.

He leaps over a stack of music at the front of the storeroom, just as the man pulls the drum off the shelf and overbalances.

In Eric’s dreams, this is the part where the man topples backward off the ladder, the part where he hits his head on the edge of a metal box holding music stands, the part where he lies bleeding on the carpet in an empty school while the record comes to an end and the  _ scratch-scratch-scratch _ of the needle plays out as he dies.

In reality, Eric gets the chance to stop that.

The man swears as he feels himself tipping. Eric steadies the ladder with a foot and with both his hands  _ pushes  _ against the man until he regains his balance. His arms almost buckle with the combined weight of the man and the drum, but Eric’s been preparing his whole life for this moment and nothing in the universe could stop him from saving this man’s life.

A few seconds and then they’re both still.

Eric’s blood rushes loudly in his ears but he can hear his own laboured breathing and the short shallow breaths from the man he’s still pressing to the ladder.

Five. Four. Three, Eric counts down.

The record comes to its end and the  _ scratch-scratch-scratch _ starts up.

The man is alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Check out all the other awesome AU content from this Bang.](https://omgcpaubang.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Check out the artworks [here](https://happyzimm.tumblr.com/post/190040377709/consequences-of-falling-by-17piesinseptember-more) and [here](https://peaches--n--queen.tumblr.com/post/190046684450/are-your-hands-always-this-warm-yes-its) on tumblr, plus the [fic post.](https://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/post/190043829741/consequences-of-falling)
> 
> I try to get back to all comments so feel free to leave one.


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